


50 Ineffables

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angelic Grace Sex (Supernatural), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cardiophilia, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mind Meld, Pining, Spooning, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: 50 drabbles/sentences/concepts about our favorite ineffable husbands.





	1. 1-10

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrHurtsSoGood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrHurtsSoGood/gifts).



  1. **— first**



The first day they met, Crowley had been so desperately lonely that he committed the most unspeakably heinous sin he could think of: he spoke casually to An Angel of The Almighty God. He couldn’t have been more shocked that said angel actually answered him back in a familial tone without trying to smite him first. 

  
***  
  


  1. **— kiss**



“Crowley, in six thousand years I have been kissed exactly zero times and I’m— well I’m  _ bloody _ well sick of it. Please, if you would be so kind…. kiss me? Please?”

  
***  
  
  


  1. **— final**



_ This is it _ , Crowley thought.  _ My final day on this planet. _ The engine of his car roared, and Freddie Mercury crooned over the speakers, but he could only hear the deafening silence of his severed connection to Aziraphale. Like a phone that was suddenly hung up in the middle of a conversation. 

He’d already made his decision before he dug out a spare set of dark sunglasses: he would not go on without Aziraphale. First, he would go to the pub and get stupidly drunk. Then, he would dig out that thermos of holy water from its hiding place and drink it like he was dying of thirst. It would not only end his vessel, it would end his entire being from here to the ends of the universe. Send him to a place where not even God Herself could reach him. 

  
*******  
  
  


  1. **— numb**



Aziraphale chuckled, giddy and floating (proverbially, of course) and filled with a pure sense of satisfaction and joy that was rivalled only by his days in heaven so many eons ago. “My lips are numb,” he observed and laughed again, endlessly amused by little things his corporeal body did every now and then, unexpectedly. 

Crowley, flattened on the bed and still recovering from what Aziraphale would have described as “excellent fellatio indeed” nodded, letting his eyes fall shut. “I would imagine, yes.” 

  
***  
  


  1. **— broken**



Aziraphale knelt in the dirt and gathered Crowley’s broken body in his arms. The demon sputtered and clenched his bloody teeth around a heart-rending sob of pain as he was lifted and cradled like a child. Aziraphale’s arms were strong and sure under his back and legs, and as a sense of pure calm and safety washed over Crowley’s body, he felt unbridled  _ love _ filtering into his bones, seeking out the jagged shards and easing them back into place. 

“You’ll catch hell for this,” he whispered, breath hard to catch. He was referring, of course, to the miraculous healing taking place. Aziraphale had gotten into trouble for healing unauthorized individuals before. A number of times, in fact. 

“Shush,” Aziraphale squeezed him a bit closer. “I can spare the next month for the paperwork.” 

  
***  
  
  


  1. **— wings**



“Get down!” Crowley rugby-tackled Aziraphale and took them both down to the ground in a tangle. The mysterious, demonic, would-be-assassin let loose a torrent of hellfire from his unnaturally-gaping jaw like a slightly decomposed dragon. 

In the blink of a serpentine eye, Crowley’s wings manifested and laid flat against their huddled bodies, creating a shield that the red flames bounced off harmlessly. Aziraphale cried out in a panic as the heat tried to penetrate the shield, gripping at Crowley’s clothes. Even a single touch of the otherworldly fire on his flesh would end his life permanently. 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley shouted over the din of the onslaught of high-speed flames. “Just stay with me and you’ll be safe!” 

Through the panic and the cloud of fear, Aziraphale believed it in his heart of hearts. 

  
  
***  
  
  


  1. **— melody**



During lunch at The Ritz one Sunday afternoon, Crowley hummed a simple tune and did some people watching. It was raining, and the angel and demon both took their time to enjoy the calming sound of water and of hurried footsteps across pavement from the safety of the gently-lit table for two. A cozy little cocoon of sweet-smelling tea and orange warmth in a sea of grey damp.

“That tune,” Aziraphale began dreamily. “What is it?”

“Dunno,” Crowley shrugged. “Been in my head, can’t place it. Probably a new one out on the radio.” He resumed his humming, favoring a progression of notes that sounded vaguely triumphant in nature. 

Aziraphale folded his newspaper. “I’m almost certain I’ve heard it before. Hum it again.”

Crowley did, albeit a bit sheepishly, and gave their surroundings a quick glance to make sure no one was eavesdropping. In a moment, Aziraphale’s expression went from innocent curiosity to dawning shock. “Crowley… what you’re humming is one of the seven sacred fugues of the Angelic Trumpeters. The trumpets that sound in heaven, for example, before the apocalypse.”

Crowley looked confused. “...and?”

“And… well, it’s confounding that you’d know it. The fugues have only ever been played in Heaven as a call to arms for angels. Angels,  _ only _ .” He leaned back in his seat and took a devastatingly contemplative sip of tea. “My dear, you’ve had a  _ memory _ of Heaven.” 

The demon sat back in his chair, face becoming somehow more dour. “I’ve told you, I don’t remember heaven. I only remember Lucifer, asking questions, falling. Only the things that led to me becoming a demon in the first place. God took away the rest.”

“That song has never been played on Earth or in Hell. So how do you know it?”

“Maybe I heard it when we all got the proverbial boot.”

“They didn’t play then, it was the hand of The Almighty that cast you out, not other angels.” Aziraphale pulled his chair closer to Crowley. “I have a theory. I ask you, what do you feel when you hum it?”

He made a ‘pft’ noise and rolled his eyes. “Just a song, innit?”

“But what do you feel? Shut your eyes, hum it again.” He gently insinuated his hand into Crowley’s and covered it with his other hand. “Go on then, shut your eyes.”

Somehow, the suggestion was so gentle that Crowley didn’t have the heart to refuse. He closed his eyes and hummed. 

A moment later, his eyes slammed back open and he reflexively grabbed the table to stop from toppling over. Tears streamed down his face, though he didn’t recall when that had started. Aziraphale was looking at him with such admiration, such open affection… the space that would have been his heart swelled. “I felt Her presence. I felt  _ love _ .” 

Aziraphale yanked hard on Crowley’s arm and caught him in an iron embrace as the demon sobbed for the first time in many centuries.  _ Miraculously _ , no one else in the restaurant noticed the scene, and no waiters saw fit to bother them until much later, when they were ready to step out into the world again together. 

  
  
***  
  
  


  1. **— rules**



It’s a hell of a storm and it matches Crowley’s mood perfectly. 

He stands at the precipice of the cliffs of Dover, soaked to the bone and struggling to stay upright in the face of the maelstrom bearing down on the coast. There’s thunder, lightning, and it looks as though the stars have gone out. Something in him has broken and he finds himself at the end of his tether. 

“I want to come home!” He screams at the sky, screams so loud that his head pounds and his throat seems to rip apart from the inside out. He disrobes, tearing the clothes from his body as though they burn his flesh, and unfurls his wings.

He flies straight up, though the rain soaks his feathers, and the wind tries to put him into the ground. Lightning flashes too close but he can’t be stopped. He flies harder, screaming into the void. If he tries hard enough he may just make it. If he could only see the pearly gates of Heaven once more. Maybe She would hear him if he got close...

  
***  
  
  


  1. **— chocolate**



“Oh my word,” Aziraphale gasped as the first dark notes of the French chocolate graced his tongue. “These are… Crowley, these are exquisite.  _ Wait _ , we need wine, I have just the one!” He placed the box of remaining chocolates down with the care one might show a human infant and darted away to the wine cellar in search of the perfect companion to this treat. 

Crowley couldn’t help but smirk at the angel’s enthusiasm. Even though he wasn’t the biggest fan of eating food, he had to admit Aziraphale’s passion was sometimes contagious. 

  
  
***  
  
  


  1. **— nostalgia**



Aziraphale secretly hoped that Crowley’s next “look” would include a longer hairstyle: he had such fond memories of those soft, shiny red tresses catching the wind and framing his face just so. 

*****  
**


	2. 11-18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some themes pop up from Supernatural, namely the concept of using 'angelic grace' as a catch-all term for "Aziraphale's magic sex powers." I also took a few cues from the show to create the Good Omens land of Purgatory.
> 
> Find me in Instagram @usedtobehmc  
> Please! It's all Good Omens stuff and I'd like followers! :)

  1. **— heartbeat**



“Have you got… a _heartbeat_?” Crowley pressed his head further into Aziraphale’s chest, where the delicate sound of a functioning heart sang from beneath flesh and bone. 

“Oh! Yes, something I miracled for myself a few hundred years ago, actually. Can’t say what came over me, really. I think it just… felt nice.”

“Huh,” Crowley blinked and listened again. _Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub._ “It _is_ nice.” 

  
  
  


  1. **— stranger**



Aziraphale had never met this angel before, but as Gabriel prepared to revoke the stranger’s halo, something in him broke. Something that felt thin and wan… exhausted. Like a string that had been plucked too many times. 

He couldn’t stay here.

It just didn’t feel like his home anymore.

  
  
  
  


  1. **— confusion**



Crowley’s eyes slammed open and his gaze fell from the ceiling to Aziraphale as they rocked against each other, steady as the tide. “Angel… something… it’s… something’s happening--” he stuttered, confusion coloring his sharp features.

Aziraphale’s face broke out in a wide and earnest grin and he leaned in closer, letting a palm fall over the center of Crowley’s chest. “Yes, my dear. Let it happen.”

He invoked just a smidgen of power, barely a trifle of his angelic grace… to reach inside Crowley and join their orgasms together. His very specific brand of ethereal magic curled unseen through Crowley’s body in glowing blue tendrils, filtering through his nervous system until they reached the pleasure centers of his brain.

The demon seemed to notice the interference immediately, thrusting his hips up and locking Aziraphale in closer with his legs wrapped like steel bands around the angel’s hips. “What--” He gasped, spine arched. “Oh _fuckfuckfuck--”_ Desperately, he claws at Aziraphale’s back as a faint shimmer of white light shines from behind both their eyes and they climax together. 

The room filled with blinding celestial light and Aziraphale covered Crowley’s eyes with one hand to protect them as he came hard, shooting deep into Crowley’s body. Crowley didn't seem to notice, busy as his was screaming through his climax. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  1. **— bitter**



The argument about the merits of bitter chocolate versus sweet chocolate continues well into the night and by the end of it, they can’t remember: 

  1. What started it
  2. Who won
  3. What side they’d taken at the start of the whole thing
  4. and exactly who thought up the idea to taste-test different chocolate brands for 4 straight hours. 



  
  
  
  
  


  1. **— afterlife**



Every step he takes seems to last longer and requires more of his waning energy. How long has he been in Purgatory, battling the endless grey wilderness? How many listless, wilted, not-really-dead bodies has he stepped over? How many beasts of the old world has he cut down with his flaming sword, looking for that one, _that demon_ that he loves so much? Purgatory is endless and oppressive quiet, it’s unfettered hopelessness and far-reaching underfoot sludge. It’s backbreaking toil and at the same time it’s being in a ever-lasting sensory-deprivation chamber. 

It’s so _lonely_ here. The desperate, clawing sense of isolation threatens to sink it’s grey fingers into his mind at any moment.

But he is an **Angel of the Almighty** and the instincts that affords as a result have never lied to him before. Crowley is _this way_. Somewhere in this direction: how far, he knows not. 

A pinpoint appears on the horizon. There is something in the distance, finally. It’s red. Someone, impossibly, _miraculously…_ it’s red. The color of Crowley’s always-evolving hair. Aziraphale trudges with renewed energy through the infinite marsh until he finally comes upon Crowley, lying half submerged in the brackish water. He sleeps, under Purgatory’s hypnotic malaise with his eyes half-open, unseeing. Just a sliver of yellow peeks out from under his eyelids. He doesn’t respond when Aziraphale falls to his knees and gathers him close, exhausted tears sliding down his muddied face. 

Aziraphale knows of the effects an extended stay in Purgatory, and Crowley has been here too long already. He twirls the flaming sword with a flourish and plunges it straight down into the sodden earth beneath them, piercing down far enough that he hears something break with an almighty CRACK. 

Like bathwater down a drain, the reality around them starts to drip and melt until the whole world is gone and they are hurled, wrapped in each other, to another place. 

  
  
  


  1. **— daybreak**



The sun peeks over the horizon and for a few minutes the world is a soft pink. Tangled in the long grass, Aziraphale and Crowley are slowly awakened by the sounds of the world waking up. 

Aziraphale is curled protectively around Crowley, the “big spoon” as they saying went. As he moves to pull away, Crowley clutches at him tighter and holds him in place. “Stay,” he murmurs. 

  
  


  1. **— audience**



4 pairs of eyes peer into the window of a lovely little cottage in South Downs, snooping with barely restrained glee. 

“I told you,” said Adam. Grinning, he motioned for The Them to continue on their way to the shops, as had been their original cover story for sneaking ‘round the back and spying on their hosts. 

“Hardly fair,” groused Pepper. “Maybe you just wished for it to be true, and so it is.” 

“Oh no,” Adam shook his head and gave Dog a good scratch. “This was way before I even met them. Probably even before England was… England.”

“What do you reckon is the traditional gift for a man and… man on their…. 10 millionth anniversary?” Asked Wensleydale, who was very concerned about proper gift-giving etiquette indeed. 

“iPhone, probably.” Said Brian, without a second’s hesitation. 

  
  
  


  1. **— endless**



“You’re not understanding me, dear…” Aziraphale’s face was red with frustration. “I’m trying to tell you that I love you.”

“Yes, I know,” Crowley sneered, practically bending in half under the weight of his sarcastic tone. “You love everyone and everything. You love puppies, and _babies_ , and sunrises, and a good glass of wine in the fall.” Crowley’s gesticulations got more wild, and his voice was slowly raising in volume until he was practically shouting. He raved, frantic, continuing to list all of the things Aziraphale loved with startling accuracy save for one ever-so-crucial omission. 

Lunging forward, Aziraphale wrapped his hands around Crowley’s head and unleashed into his body the endless torrents of enormous, insurmountable, _ineffable_ love he felt on the inside. Crowley immediately went silent and his mouth hung open, slack with what must have been a powerful shock to his system. 

Waves of Aziraphale’s love kept hitting him, washing over his body from his head to his toes, and like the tide it carried pieces of him away and brought new pieces to the surface. He churned with it, the noise in his head was deafening. 

Crowley shook and convulsed, but Aziraphale refused to let go… he needed to hang on just a little longer. Needed to show Crowley what this was, what he knew they had.

Aziraphale relaxed his grip and Crowley’s legs immediately folded underneath him. 

"Oh I hope you can forgive me, Crowley." Aziraphale lamented and cradled the demon close. "I had to tell you, and the words for what I feel have yet to be invented."


End file.
